


Just Another Day

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Juris Imprudence [31]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M, lawyer AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7835425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Any, Any, just another day at (insert your workplace here)."</p><p>Just another day at Woolsey O'Neill and Weir, from Evan Lorne's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Day

When Evan came into the office with the afternoon delivery of gourmet cupcakes, every single paralegal - plus Nathan the Runner - was gathered around Vala’s computer.  
  
He could hear tinny recorded voices emitting from it. As he darted in and out of offices, leaving mid-afternoon snacks, he listened.  
  
He recognized Teldy’s voice.  
  
“Oh really? If you’re such a gold-medal father, where was your petition for custody or visitation when my client was one, or two?”  
  
“When they say I didn’t try to see him, that’s hearsay. And besides, if they had concerns, why didn’t they report sooner?”  
  
“Hey, they’re his grandparents, you’re his parent. The burden of protecting him was on you, not them, and guess what, when they had serious concerns, they made reports.”  
  
“I had concerns sooner.”  
  
“Then why didn’t you report sooner?”  
  
“Whatever it is they have to say about me, it’s hearsay.”  
  
“Do you even know what hearsay means? Because the way you’re using it, I’d have guessed not.”  
  
“They don’t have videos of how he is on visits. He’s not suffering from post-visit stress. That’s all hearsay too.”  
  
“Misuse the word hearsay one more time, I dare you.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’ve misused the word ‘hearsay’ at least fifty times in this fifteen minute conversation in which you’ve attempted to verbally browbeat me into giving you your way, and right now your way violates federal law, state law, and department policy,” Teldy said.  
  
“Look, everything they have to say is hearsay, but I have proof -”  
  
There was an indeterminate noise, and the paralegals - save Bucky - winced, and then there was a howl of pain from the recording.  
  
Evan set the strawberry shortcake cupcake on Beckett’s desk and crossed the bullpen.  
  
“What’s going on?”  
  
“Teldy’s covering court for Jackson and she decked one of the parents,” Stackhouse said gleefully.  
  
“In Teldy’s defense,” Vala said, “she was right. I counted. Fifty misuses of the word ‘hearsay’.”  
  
Evan raised his eyebrows. “You mean she -?”  
  
Mehra rewound the video, and there was Teldy, punching a man in the face. She had excellent form. She’d been a boxer, back in the day.  
  
“And she’s being held in contempt of court until someone can go bail her out,” Zelenka added.  
  
“Has someone gone to bail her out?” Evan asked.  
  
“We were waiting for one of the other attorneys to get back,” Brown said.  
  
“It doesn’t take an attorney to bail another attorney out of jail.” Evan handed the last of the cupcakes to Nathan, fished his keys out of his pocket. “How long has she been in there?” Covering court for Jackson was a time-honored hazing ritual at WOW. Every attorney had to do it at least once. Evan was pretty sure Jackson had no idea O’Neill used it as a hazing ritual and was probably grateful that everyone was willing to help him out (they all covered for each other when necessary, but usually they tried to keep coverage within the same department).  
  
He went to Walter and asked for bail money, and then he hurried down to the courthouse, knowing they’d keep Teldy in the holding cells between the courtrooms till someone came to get her, or till court closed, at which point she’d be transported to county.  
  
The clerks recognized Evan from all the times he’d had to bail O’Neill out of jail. He forked over the cash, signed paperwork, accepted a receipt to give to Walter, and escorted a very cranky Teldy to her car.  
  
When he got back to the office, it was eerily quiet. Everyone was at their desks, working industriously. Nathan had delivered the rest of cupcakes and was helping Zelenka put together a discovery binder for delivery to another law firm in town.  
  
Evan headed for his cubicle, did a headcount. Bucky was missing.  
  
He started toward Vala’s desk, and Vala pointed in the direction of the staff kitchen.  
  
Evan poked his head into the kitchen, and Bucky was huddled under the table, hugging his knees to his chest. His expression was blank, but Evan could see terror in his eyes.

PTSD freak out. Evan knew about those firsthand.   
  
“Hey Bucky, can I come in?”  
  
“S-sure.”  
  
“I’m just going to do some quick errands, all right?”  
  
“All right.”  
  
“Stay there as long as you need.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Evan cleared his throat loudly, then stepped into the kitchen. He narrated in a calm, even tone, all of his actions - starting another pot of coffee, fetching a glass of water for Vala, bringing napkins to Frasier, who inevitably got crumbs all over her desk. He gave Bucky and the table a wide berth while he worked, and then he brought Vala her glass of water.  
  
“Should we call someone?” Vala asked. “Heightmeyer?”  
  
“Leave him be for now,” Evan said. “Give him time.” He answered emails until the coffee was done brewing, and then he went around to all the attorneys, topping up their mugs. He made sure to always warn Bucky when he was coming into the kitchen, tell Bucky what he was doing.  
  
Then he went back to his desk to prep quarterly fax filings for a self-employed archaeologist who published books on fringe archaeology that were based on shoddy history but were sensational sellers. (Her legal name was Freya, but she had another personality, Anise. Anise had a crush on Jackson, Freya had a crush on O’Neill, and there was a running pool on which man would deck her first, the way she flirted shamelessly with both of them.)  
  
He was halfway through his read-through of the newest revisions to the federal tax code (he read them in detail, gave Sheppard the highlights) when his phone rang.  
  
He scooped up the receiver, still wielding his highlighter. “Go for Lorne.”  
  
“Evan,” said Heightmeyer, “can you come to the kitchen? Bucky’s asking for you.”  
  
Evan had seen Heightmeyer go to the kitchen but assumed she was going for coffee or a snack. “Be right there.” He capped the highlighter, set down the papers, and stood up, crossed the office.  
  
Heightmeyer met him in the doorway. “He says he’s about ready to come out. He just wants to talk to you for a bit.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Let me know if you need me. I’ll be right outside.”  
  
Evan slipped past Heightmeyer and into the kitchen. He crouched down so he was eye-level with Bucky. “Hey. What’s going on? You wanted to see me?”  
  
“You can draw, right?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Can you draw something for me? The memory is fuzzy in my head, and I need an outside perspective.”  
  
“Sure. Let me go get my drawing supplies.” Evan hurried to his desk, grabbed his sketchbook and pencils, and went back into the kitchen. He sat down on the floor near Bucky, but not quite close enough to touch, out of Bucky’s personal space. “All right. What’ll it be, soldier?”  
  
Bucky began to narrate in a flat, numb voice, a scene, ordinary at first, him and some platoon-mates in a Humvee, bouncing over the rocky desert terrain in A-stan. Evan drew it like a comic, one panel after another, Bucky and his best friend Steve and a few others named Sam, Nat, and Clint (Nat was a girl, Evan had to go back and fix that). The scene went wrong very quickly. IED. Explosion. Humvee overturning. Fire. Screaming. Something pinning his arm. Someone dragging him to safety. Him failing to grab onto Sam so Sam could be rescued to.  
  
“They told me I couldn’t have reached him,” Bucky said. “But I know I could have. Right?”  
  
Evan handed him the sketchbook. “I don’t know. Could you have?”  
  
Bucky stared at the first drawing, the five of them in the Humvee, Nat driving, Clint fiddling with the radio, Steve, Sam, and Bucky crammed into the back.  
  
“It was Steve who pulled me out,” Bucky said, smoothing a hand over the graphite lines. “I could have - I should have -” He shook his head and shoved the sketchbook back at Evan. “I -”  
  
And then he was crying, silent tears, shoulders shaking. Evan reached out with one hand, careful, and then Bucky was in his arms, face buried against Evan’s neck, hot tears on Evan’s skin.  
  
Heightmeyer peered into the kitchen. Evan waved her away, mouthed _I got this_.  
  
It was Nathan who eventually brought Bucky a glass of water, brought a message from O’Neill that it was okay for him to go home for the day.

Of a kindness, Evan drove Bucky back to the tiny dingy apartment where he lived. Once Bucky was curled up on the couch asleep, Evan left.  
  
He got back into the office in time to be greeted by several paralegals helping Vala play a game of limbo using several taped-together yard-sticks and questionable music.  
  
“She’s going undercover at a pool party,” Mehra explained.  
  
When Evan got to his desk, he saw that Sheppard had left him a hefty stack of files to open. He’d been on the road all day doing house calls and wooing new clients. It would take him all night to get them open by the time Sheppard wanted them open, according to the sticky note he’d placed on the very top file.  
  
Just another day at Woolsey O’Neill and Weir.


End file.
